Here then..the final chapter. It is a theraputic dose of fluff...Anna has been sick and is in need of something sweet to perk her up. You have been warned..this is unabashedly tooth-rotting. :)

The sight was stunning.

As if by magic, as if Mithrandir had waved his wand, had conjured up the perfect image for that day, their sitting room had been transformed.

Boughs of green swaged on window frames and mantel. Pale cream candles, dozens, scattered on every surface as proud sentinels of the season. A low table set to groaning with a dizzying array of sweets. Breads and cakes and marizpan (!). Nuts and oranges and the scent of spice heavy in the air. And over all: the tree. The huge fir filled a whole corner by the fire and lent its sharp fresh scent to the room. It twinkled even in the dim light of the moon, flashes of white and gold shone from its boughs.

Faramir was dumbfounded.

When had she done this? It must be 'Wyn, for it was a nearly perfect copy of the King's study in Edoras, the one he had sat happily in last Mettare morn, only a little drunk on Hildreth's glogg and soundly drunk on the sight of his beautiful betrothed.

But how?

They had ridden in so late. Back from the City and the barge across, they had dismounted wearily in the forecourt: shaking the dust of snow from their cloaks, Eadig at Wyn's stirrup and Bergil his. While the big blond Rider had taken Mithros and Windfola to their own treat of oats and winter plums (the stable lads got a break on Mettare eve) the rest of the household gathered, had waited up for them and the new year.

"The One light your life and heart this year…"

After the traditional new year greeting and heartfelt but weary words of thanks Faramir had turned toward their bedroom, expecting Eowyn to follow.

She had paused. "You go on my love. I left a glove in my saddle bag. "

Bone-tired from the ceremony and emotion of the day he had simply nodded and made for their room, fallen into bed with the barest of ablutions. The strain of keeping a smile plastered onto his face had told. How many of the interminable nobles had he greeted and spoken to? How many had remarked it was an occasion, the first Metarre blessings from the new Steward, all unknowing that each smiling comment was as a lash? That it hurt to be reminded neither his father or his brother were there to do the duty so rightfully theirs?

The ceremony had taken hours for more folk than usual were keen to get this Steward's greeting and the King's. Only during the mid-day break had he found time to slip away. To visit the silent street and lay the winter's first shy aconite on a smaller, white marble tomb.

Once again he honoured a Mettare he could only recall in fleeting memories. Long dark hair upon a pillow; Boromir, eyes red-rimmed and the only one would take the time to play; the sea-tang of peaty whiskey that hung about his father's darkened room.

Sleep well naneth. Sleep ever well.

He had meant to keep awake until Wyn came in but all too soon sleep had stolen him: back to the twilight world of dreams.

At least, for a little while until his body roused before the dawn of a new day.

"Do you like it?"

He whirled. A sleepy looking 'Wyn stood in the doorway, glorious hair all mussed, a red silk dressing robe pulled over her thin nightgown. Her feet were bare. She had obviously been in such a hurry she had put nothing on her feet.

Hastily, he took her hands and pulled her forward onto the warm thick rug. "Like it?" How could he explain what a glorious surprise this was? "It is positively wondrous. How did you ever do it?"

A small smile stole across his wife's neat features. "Eadrig helped carry in the tree. "

"But this must have taken hours!" he exclaimed, turning again to take in all the food and boughs and colour in the room.

She nodded. "Many people helped. Nera. Gwinlith. Mablung and all the Rangers. There will be a proper party and a dance this afternoon."

"There will?" When had all this been done? And how, knowing his wife, had she ever kept is secret?

Faramir shook his head in amazement. Never mistake what a determined shieldmaiden could achieve. Belatedly, he noticed that Wyn was shivering (with the room's slight chill or fatigue he did not know) and the fire had been banked but settled low. He reluctantly let go her hand and moved the firescreen to lay on a log.

As the flames crackled up he could see the tree in better form. Someone had made ornaments of parchment and bits of gold-coloured foil. They were adorable. He thought he recognized a feadan among the shapes, and a horse of course.

"I could never have imagined such a morn."

Eowyn gave a mighty yawn. "I wanted you to have special Metarre after all."

This was not a time she was accustomed to be up, had risen early just for him. He smiled and shook his head. "You are a wonder. I do not deserve you, my love."

"Of course you do." Wyn's tone was sharp and her eyes flashed once. She would brook no maudlin thoughts this morn. "Come break your fast and I will tell all that this means."

They sat on the soft settee before the laden table and Faramir learned once again about yulekaga and the lights, the prayers to say, and the symbolism of the spread. He marveled at the spice cake and exclaimed excitedly over the pink pigs and blue birds made of marzipan, dyed with berry juice and hiding behind the breads. His favourite.

His wife smiled as the little creatures vanished all at once. Obviously Nera had regaled her with the tale. That as a boy he had made himself sick gorging on the treat.

"What is the ale for?" he asked, puzzled, when he could speak again. She poured him a large measure from a silver horn. Ale at breakfast was a Rohirric tradition amongst the barracks and the village but not in Theoden's house where they also started their day with tea or kahva.

"It is good luck at Yule to bring wheat to the house." Eowyn watched him politely take a sip but did not pour a horn of her own. Was this just for men? "It is a symbol of plenty for the land but most folk bring a cask of ale instead."

Faramir laughed. Wheat but improved in form and function. "I have heard your brother say many times it is his favorite form of wheat."

He had to try then a little of everything. The special bread was wonderful. Light and sweet, redolent with saffron and the perfect crumb to hold fresh butter and the sharp-sweet jam of lindonberries. He caught Wyn's mischevious gaze as a little of the jam dripped down his chin. She smiled and leaned forward: with the barest kiss, swept the red stain away.

Of course! That jam. The stains on his tunic-back from that summer day would not come out. He tried to catch her hands and keep her near but before he could catch her mouth she had pulled away. 'I have not given you your present yet." Eowyn said as she rose and reached for something nestled beneath the tree.

Valar..and in all the excitement he had forgotten his.

By the time he rose and came back with the previous box, Eowyn was back with a small green ribboned parcel on her knee. "You first."

Of course she could not wait for him to open it and laughed merrily as he hugged her in delight. How had she ever got a copy? His wife was an utter miracle…

After the previous book had been exclaimed over it was his turn. Her eyes were wide and shining with anticipation as he held out the velvet box.

"Oh Faramir!"

The cry of joy that pealed as Eowyn opened the heavy lid made his heart flutter in relief.

The diamond shone in the fire's glow and the silver gleamed, shot tiny beams of light across her face. She loved it. In fact she did not just love it: she adored it and tried the beautiful thing on at once. Soft, small fingers held his larger callused ones as he pressed it gently and carefully to her temple. It was perfect and she truly was a dream come to life.

Eyes alight with eagerness, Eowyn retrieved her little hand mirror from their bedroom and exclaimed at how gorgeous the circlet was. Faramir just grinned: so wide and steadily that he found his face muscles became a little tired once again. Perhaps he should put them to another use.

He leaned forward and touched the delicate drop with the tip of one finger, stroked it down across her cheek to tip her chin a little up.

"Blessed Metarre, my beautiful one."

Their kiss was deep; languid and dizzying and he did not want it to ever end, heart so full with joy and admiration for this woman who would do much to make a holiday for him.

After many minutes of sighs and melting kisses against the soft skin he loved behind her shell-like ear, Eowyn pulled reluctantly away.

"I have another present for you Faramir."

"Another?" Would the wonders of this day not cease? "But you have already done so much?"

"This one you do not unwrap."

You don't?

Valar that thought went straight to his core, made his blood pound like a running eored and his skin flush more than the fire could explain.

"But I already have my present." He dropped his voice low, took on the hushed and heady tone that he knew made her wobbly in the knees. "And I already have something that needs to be unwrapped."

Bowstring-callused fingertips scribed a slow, distracting circle across her collar bone, brushed aside the silken strap of the filmy nightgown below the robe.

"Faramir!" Éowyn laughed and, flushed herself, clutched at his roving hand. "The door is not locked."

Well she had a point at that. It was early yes, but soon the whole household would be up and surely one of the maids would enter to light the fire.

"I can take care of it."

He dropped his hand, pressed a quick kiss to her hair above the circlet and made to turn the heavy key in stout doorlock. But before he could get too far Eowyn grabbed his wrist and held him fast, shaking her head just a little ruefully, sultry smile was still in place.

"Faramir...can we think of something else for just a moment?"

He paused and flashed her a wicked grin. "Hungry? You can have more sweets after you have had me."

"Faramir!"

Eowyn's tone was more than a little faintly shocked. He knew was being outrageous and forward and he did not care. Love made him giddy and he could not hold his tongue. Her brows rose up but at the sight of his sudden pout she giggled.

"The Council would never believe that my publicaly correct, polite husband ever said such a thing. We of the Mark have a saying. A Rohir thinks of swiving ten times a minute. A Gondorian thinks of swiving ten times a year. But only if there is no detail of decorum that needs to be discussed."

His sharp bark of laughter echoed in the room. Insulted? By a Rohir's sound misjudgement. Nay. Still waters ran deep after all and the pool of his ardor was wide and without bottom. He gently broke her hold to run questing hands along the sheer bright silk that clad her arms.

"I, my love? I hope by now I have showed you well and often I am an anomaly?"

"Oh yes...you are most uncommon. So I am told." she added hastily when a black eyebrow flew swiftly up. "And for which I am very, very grateful."

Despite her words of appreciation Eowyn reached once more and stilled his hands. The circlet flashed as her head rose up, pulling away from the warm lips that sought to trail kisses like butterflies across her chest.

"No love, a moment. Listen, please. There is something I need to say."

"What?"

Of its own accord his hand had raised to cup her cheek because it seemed it was the most precious thing in all the world and he must hold it dear, her dear, safe below his touch.

She took his warm fingers and lay both their hands together, over the barest swell of her stomach where it was enfolded by the sheer, warm gauze.

All at once his heart stopped in his chest. He did not need her next words to understand the joy that filled him nigh to bursting but they were so very sweet all the same.

"There is a reason we need to set tradition for our home. We will need to begin with our new family as we will go on."

Really?! Truly?! "You are with child?!"

Eowyn was nodding at his shocked and sudden grin, looking as amazed and thrilled as he. "Yes. I believe it happens to married women once in a while."

But she was not sick? Unless that too had been hidden from his sight. "Are you sure? You are going to have a babe?"

"Yes, we are. I am sure." She too could not quite believe it true. Hearing it said aloud was startling for them both. "And so is the midwife in the village and Varan at the Houses. I have looked at my stomach so many times last few weeks I know I can see the change."

His whoop of excitement was loud enough to wake the house.

Faramir threw his arms around her waist and spun her round, the diamond of her circlet flashing each time she swung her past the fire. His brilliant, beautiful, amazing wife with child! His clever Wyn. This was absolutely the best Metarre he could imagine. In months they would be a family….

Months? So soon! And he was squeezing her stomach to his chest. Faramir set her down so fast he had to throw out an arm to steady her on her feet. "When?" The breathless question came as he tucked a stray strand of bright gold hair back into place.

Her eyes gleamed bright as the jewels that graced her brow. "Before Midsummer."

That soon? "Are you well? The babe is fine? You have not been sick?" Even as he peppered her with questions realization struck. "That is why you have been so fatigued!"

And she had been hard at work for hours to make the morning his.

Faramir almost fell over himself in his haste scoop Eowyn up and carry her, protesting, to the settee. With alacrity he plumped the pillows behind her back. "You must lie down. Take it easier."

Frantically he wracked his brain, trying to dredge up what little experience he had of this unique event. The only close family he knew when pregnant had been Leylin. She had had all of Dol Amroth's large and well-populated palace jumping to her every whim, bed-bound and spectacularly, utterly and continuously sick. Oh Gods. The thought brought him up. The image of poor Eowyn restricted to months in bed was one he could not bear.

He put down the fourth pillow and took in his wife's clear gaze, noting the dark smudges below her eyes. She looked exhausted but she had been up so very late and risen very early.

Eowyn shook her head and chuckled so hard at his aghast and worried expression that tears threatened to spill out. She pushed his anxious hands away.

"Faramir I am fine. I am not sick, and other than a little tired feel entirely well. Varan says that it may even be by your birthday for they cannot be too sure right yet. Think what a marvelous day that would be."

His birthday? Yavanna, praise the Lady for her blessing. It would. And she had made it possible, made them a family. It had been such a dream but one so long held back, he could hardly believe that it was real.

"Thank you."

"For what?" Eowyn's mouth quirked. "You had a hand, well not a hand, but a part, in this."

A part. He wanted to laugh and cry at once, to tell her she was as outrageous as he could ever be but the words choked in his throat.

They were so very much alike. The kiss he planted lightly on her lips unlocked an unexpected set of words. "For making Metarre a holiday I will remember with such joy again."

Such few words but just the right ones to pierce a wild shieldmaiden's fierce resolve.

As her joyful tears streaked down, his thumbs, light as petals upon her cheeks, caught the tears his kisses missed.